


Nightmare

by Elsey



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:27:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3280124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsey/pseuds/Elsey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean will never admit what hell did to him. He can't sleep, he can hardly eat, and whatever he does he usually throws back up anyway. He's trying. God, he's trying, to be normal, to be himself. All of it is for Sam, because Sam needs his brother, and Dean knows it. But the façade is crumbling, and Dean knows that he can't do this for much longer without breaking. Without hurting someone, or himself. He doesn't know what to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmare

The only noise around him is the _drip drip drip_ of water from a leaky pipe. Dean’s heart is beating rapidly in his chest as he creeps forwards, hoping to God he can remain silent. His gun is drawn, pointed directly ahead of him, is his only weapon; he’d dropped the knife further back. Dean doesn’t know where Sam is, they got separated back on the first floor. Now, in the basement of this nuthouse, Dean is just trying to breathe, to remain calm.

He whips around when there’s a thud behind him, gun loaded and ready. Carefully, quietly, Dean crosses the room, squinting in the darkness, trying to see what made the noise. He jumps, biting his tongue to hold in whatever it was that was about to come out, when a bird flies right past his head. Dean has to use all of his willpower not to curse at the feathered asshole. Shaking his head, Dean turns himself around, continuing deeper into the basement.

He stops dead when he hears it.

A growl.

Behind him.

Dean’s breath catches in his throat, and he’s finding it hard to control it, rasping gasps leaving his mouth. The gun shakes in his hand, his fingers sweaty around the trigger. He clenches his eyes shut, letting out a gasp before he swings around, pointing the gun ahead of him.

The room is empty.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters. He takes one trembling hand from the gun to rub his eyes and wipe the sweat from his brow. Dean swallows and it sounds like the loudest noise he’s ever made. His heart in his throat, he continues on- will this basement ever end? His legs feel numb and rubbery, and he doesn’t want to take another step, knows what’s ahead of him and that he can’t stop it. Dean bites his tongue hard enough to draw blood to keep the scream in his throat when the dog barks behind him, jumping in the air, his gun leaving his hands and skittering across the room under a worktable.

Dean’s hands immediately go to his hair, clutching at it and scratching his blunt nails across his scalp.

“GO AWAY!” he screams. “YOU HAD YOUR FUN, NOW GO AWAY!” The growling gets louder, a box falls off one of the counters- Dean backs away, going as fast as he can while keeping his hands in front of him, ready to fight, but knowing if he can. He trips over something behind him, falling against a wall and cracking his head. He moans, his vision blurring before him- big, hulking shadows cross before his eyes, coming closer, closer.

“Please,” he whispers, hands still in front of him, still trying feebly to protect him. He can feel them spasming, and doesn’t know how to make it stop. “Don’t do this, please,” he begs. His whole body flinches when a dog snaps at him, snarling and growling. He opens his eyes, finding himself staring into what he can only describe as two portals to hell.

“Oh, Christ, no, please, no!” he screams, scrambling onto his hands and knees and forcing himself to crawl forwards. He’s blind, he can’t see, can’t think- more things crash around him, dropping, shattering, his whole body is tense and flinching again and again. Something snaps at his ankle, Dean feels teeth graze his flesh and a scream tears from his lips, a plea to release him, for help, for someone, something, just FUCKING HELP!

Dean freezes. It’s there. It’s right there. He can feel its putrid breath blowing across his face, entering his nose, his mouth, his eyes- he feels like he’s being possessed by the creature’s very being. He chokes on his vomit, forcing it back into his stomach, and making himself turn his head, his whole body trembling.

Dean feels himself beginning to hyperventilate as he stares into the face of the devil himself.

Hellhounds.

This isn’t right, this isn’t right! He spent his time in hell, he spent his forty years! They can’t be here, they just can’t! Dean lets out a choked, frightened sound, and feels paralysed. He can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t think. He turns his head away, clenching his eyes shut. This can’t be real.

His eyes flash open again when more hot, sticky breath blows across his face. It’s real. They’re here. Dean jumps to his feet, flattening himself against the wall. His eyes dart across the room, there are one, two, three, four of them, spread out, tails flicking and their crimson eyes staring hungrily at him. His throat is constricting, his stomach in knots, his chest tight- his eyes are practically bulging out of his skull.

What does he do?

What can he do?

He glances beside him and sees a door, just five feet to the right, he remembers seeing it on their outward scan- it leads to a staircase that leads to the side yard. Dean flicks his eyes back to the hellhounds, and then to the door. Before he can even think, he’s running for his life, trying to survive those simple five feet.

He can hear them behind him, snarling and snapping and barking. His hand is on the doorknob, _he’s there, he can make it,_ when he realizes it’s locked. Locked, locked, locked, FUCKING LOCKED, WHY IS IT LOCKED, IT CAN’T BE LOCKED!

Dean whips around, breathing shallow as he stares at them. They’re waiting, they’re baiting him, taking their good, sweet time-

Dean’s scream is blood curdling when the biggest one darts forwards, digging its claw into his abdomen, pulling him down, dragging him onto the floor, pawing and scratching through his jacket, his shirt, his skin ripping, breaking as the claws dig deeper and deeper.

“NO, NO, SOMEONE HELP ME, SOMEONE HELP ME!” he yells, mouth open and eyes squeezed shut as the beast tears at his shoulder. He can feel them now, he knows the others are there, on top of him, and he can feel as they bite, scratch, tear, as they open him up and pull him apart. He can feel the break of each of his ribs as it happens, he shrieks when they finally reach his internal organs. He’s sobbing and screaming until he can’t, because there’s too much blood in his throat as he convulses, choking to death on his own guts. He spits as much as he can, breathing harshly through his nose, unsure if can even scream anymore-

When one of them moves from his stomach to snap his leg and start ripping out the achilles tendon, all Dean wants is to die. His throat is hoarse as he lets scream after scream leave him. This is was than when he went to hell, so much worse. When he went to hell, they just clawed, just scratched, they didn’t- they weren’t eating him, not really. But now. Now he can feel as their fangs dig into his intestines. When he feels something RIP out of him he can’t do anything more than moan as more blood pours into him mouth.

Why can’t he die?

Why isn’t he dying?

All that he wants is to die.

“Dean!” he hears. It’s distant, it’s echoing. He can’t focus on it, the only sounds he can hear are ripping, tearing, his own breathing, and a ringing, such a loud, loud ringing.

“Dean, where are you!?”

No. It can’t be Sam, Sam can’t see him like this, Dean doesn’t want him to see him like this again, not Sammy, no, no-

There are shoulders on his hands, shaking him, shaking him again and again. The blood is everywhere, painting the walls, filling his lungs, he can only think ‘why me?’

“DEAN! OPEN YOUR EYES!”

More shaking, more tearing, he tries to raise his hand, but he can’t, it isn’t happening, he can’t.

He feels a sharp pain in his face, and his eyes flash open, hands instinctively flying forwards, pushing, pushing hard against the force on top of him, pressing too close, much too close to his body, he doesn’t want this, it’s too close, it’s too much-

“Dean, thank God, thank God!” His eyes are wild as he looks around. He feels the weight leave him, and is immediately on his feet. Sam? It’s Sam, sitting on a bed. He’s in a motel. Dean’s chest heaves, and his hands reach down, touching his body, his whole body, no blood, no guts. Everything is quiet for a moment. Dean runs from the room, slamming the bathroom door behind him, retching into the toilet, and he feels himself fall against the wall, knees against his chest and sobs wracking his body.

“Dean?” he hears Sam say, a knock on the door. He can’t move, he can’t make himself stop, he just sobs and sobs, the tears won’t stop. He hears the door open, he hears Sam’s footsteps, and he hears his brother sit beside him. Sam wraps an arm around him, pulling Dean close to him. “I’m here, Dean. I’m here.” Dean wants to be alone. He wants Sam to go away, to leave him be, to let him die. But his brother doesn’t, and Dean can’t make himself STOP, can’t pull himself together.

Eventually, he does stop. But he can’t move, he can’t make himself move. He feels numb, empty, lifeless.

“Dean?” Sam mumbles, when his brother has finally calmed. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“Is this real?” Dean finds himself asking. He turns his head, his eyes hollow as he looks at his brother, but he can tell he isn’t really looking at him. He’s blank. Sam’s face breaks at his words. He stands, and he pulls Dean to his feet.

“Come on,” Sam says, gesturing out the door. “You should rest.” Dean freezes.

“No,” he says, shaking his head and moving back into the bathroom. “I won’t- I can’t go to sleep. I can’t, I won’t. Let’s work on the case, okay? Let’s just- we’ll stay awake, we’ll keep ourselves awake. W-we can do more research on angel lore, we can-” Sam wraps his brother in a hug, and Dean doesn’t resist, just grips him back.

“What happened, Dean?” Sam asks. Dean pulls away from him, hardening his face.

“Nothing,” he says, before he shoves past Sam, going to sit at the table and pour himself a glass of whatever shit alcohol he brought with him, chugging it back before he slams the glass down and starts pulling papers towards him. When he looks at Sam, he can see the concern written across his face. Dean ignores it, focusing on the lore instead.

“Dean, if you ever want to talk, about hell, about any-”

“Shut the fuck up, Sam. You shut up right now or I’m leaving, I swear to God.” Dean sees how much the words hurt his brother, but he can’t find himself caring.

It’s none of Sam’s god damn business.


End file.
